


Contingency Plans

by unfinishedidea



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfinishedidea/pseuds/unfinishedidea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This place is a shithole,” Roque says in disgust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contingency Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the eternally wonderful lynnmonster for betaing and making this story way better. All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> This was originally going to be my [](http://picfor1000.livejournal.com/profile)[**picfor1000**](http://picfor1000.livejournal.com/) story, but I failed at staying under the word limit. It's still inspired by [my picture assignment](http://anonym.to/?http://www.flickr.com/photos/stuckincustoms/1679648492/lightbox/).
> 
> I totally based Jensen's niece on [this girl](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jM4nomPWQ88), who's the bamfiest four-year-old you'll ever meet.

“This place is a shithole,” Roque says in disgust.

Jensen laughs delightedly. “This place is _awesome_.” The house is covered in peeling and cracked paint, a garish green that reminds him of cheap formica counters in roadside diners. Rusty metal flamingos pepper the overgrown lawn.

“I am pretty sure that you are the only one in the universe who thinks so,” Pooch says.

“Okay, if we’re all done editorializing—the sooner we get set up and sort through the Riley mess, the sooner we can get out of here,” Clay says.

“And whose fault was that again,” Roque mutters, grimacing as he eyes the sagging roof and the porch beams that are listing sadly to the right.

“Riley had it coming,” Jensen says, casually. His Cougar senses are tingling, and he looks up to avoid Cougar’s eyes and continues, falsely bright, “Well, I’m just going to check out the sweet digs. First room pick is _mine_.”

The place is a treasure trove. There are stolen street signs and old license plates on the window sills and above door frames. A few walls are completely covered in the carved names of seemingly everyone who’s ever passed through (not just names, Jensen realizes upon closer inspection—there are quotes and poems and ridiculous one-liners. He takes out a knife and engraves a knock-knock joke that he’s particularly proud of). There’s an endless hodgepodge of random paraphernalia scattered in every corner of the house, kitschy and quaint. It’s a window into the fragments of other people’s lives during their stay there. It’s the coolest motherfucking safe house Jensen’s ever been in. Clearly no one else in his unit has his fabulous taste.

Pooch finds him in the living room, staging toy dinosaur figurines into various sex positions. He tries to arrange a _T. rex_ and _Styracosaurus_ into a retrograde wheelbarrow, but the balance is just off.

“You need serious help, man,” Pooch says as he pokes a pyramid of _Stegosaurus_ stacked precariously on top of one another.

“Pooch, no, stop that, bad dog,” Jensen scolds, smacking Pooch’s hand away.

“I am quite capable of shoving these dinosaurs up your ass,” Pooch says mildly.

“Stop making me swoon,” Jensen grins at him. “You know that a _Stegosaurus_ tail is called a thagomizer? Which isn’t even a real word—it was made up by Gary Larson. As if you needed further proof that all paleontologists do is get high and read Far Side comics.”

Pooch stares at him. “Why do you know that. _Why_.”

He doesn’t say: _Because I had my own set as a kid and I was obsessed. Because Dad was military, too, and Sarah and I had to move around a lot, and they were some of the only toys I never lost. Because it didn’t matter where you were, dinosaurs were always an in with other kids. Because Sarah was the serious one and she didn’t smile enough._

He’d given Em his dinosaur set when she was four. She calls them her babies—she’s kind of terrifying in her dinosaur knowledge. She sends him a postcard once, with I ♥ MY MICROPACHYCEPHALOSAURUS, THANKS UNCLE JAKE, LOVE EMILY, scrawled in bright orange crayon with all the Es written backwards. He always keeps it with him.

He doesn’t tell Pooch any of that, though; instead, he says, “Dude, chicks totally dig science nerds.”

Pooch gives him an incredulous look. “No, they _don’t_.” He closes his eyes, shaking his head, and looks at Jensen again, expression shifting into something that does not bode well at all for Jensen. Pooch starts to say something, hesitates, then a look of determination crosses his face, and that’s Jensen’s cue.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Think they’ll have more than just condiments in the fridge?” Jensen asks, and then walks away without waiting for a response.

Because God hates him, Clay corners him in the kitchen.

“Far be it from me to tell you when you’re being an idiot, but Jensen, you’re being an idiot,” Clay says.

“When am I not?” Jensen says lightly, more honest than he means to be, intently studying a bottle of mustard. “Are we really going to do this?”

Clay sighs. “Jensen—”

“Look. Colonel. With all due respect—there’s nothing to talk about.”

Clay looks up, and says, as if to himself, “Okay, I tried, happy? Let’s never do this again.”

Jensen puts down the bottle and flees to the room he staked out. He would really love it if everyone just stopped being so fucking perceptive about his—situation—with Cougar. At least Roque hasn’t tried to talk to him yet. Sometimes he looks at Jensen and scowls, but that’s not really different from his default expression. At least Roque respects people’s right to make complete asses of themselves.

The thing is, though.

The thing is that it’s been a long time coming.

The thing is that the first clear thought that had crossed Jensen’s mind when he’d met Cougar was, _Oh, shit_.

Jensen has a type.

He’s tried to ignore it, but Cougar has proven time and again to be so very perfectly and depressingly good at getting under his skin. Jensen’s good at denial, Jensen can totally bury it and do his job and not get distracted, but then fucking _Riley_.

It had been a bad mission from the get-go, and they’d had to ditch the plan halfway through and improvise. Jensen had looked up from hacking into the server just in time to see Cougar get dropped with heart-stopping ease. Riley had stood over him with a knife in hand that was Roque-levels of terrifying.

Jensen hadn’t even thought twice, just blew Riley’s fucking head off and then sprinted to check on Cougar, gripped with panic, ignoring the static of Clay yelling at him through the comm.

Christ, there had been so much blood. Cougar shouldn’t have even been there.

Cougar had blinked his eyes open, disoriented, and then waved him off; it was a scalp wound, but not major: scalp wounds just bled like a motherfucker. He’d gingerly touched his head, looking at the blood on his fingers.

Jensen had felt a wave of relief, so intense it made him dizzy, which was of course when Cougar had looked at him. Cougar’s eyes had widened slightly, and Jensen had thought, _Oh, fuck, oh_ , fuck. It’d been written all over his face.

Jensen is brought abruptly back to the present when someone makes a noise behind him. He whirls around.

“ _Jesus_ , Cougar,” he says, heart pounding. He stares at the bandage on Cougar’s scalp, partially obscured by his hat. “You don’t need to practice your ninja skills on me, you know, I’m too pretty to die of a heart attack at such a young age.” He tries to keep his voice steady and knows he’s failing.

Cougar cautiously moves towards him and Jensen backs away reflexively, stumbling when he knocks over a wooden octopus statue.

“Jensen,” Cougar says roughly, almost desperate, and Jensen looks up in surprise. Cougar has his hands slightly raised, as if Jensen were a spooked animal that needed calming. He moves towards Jensen again, tentative, and Jensen forces himself to keep still.

Cougar reaches out, painfully slow, and places his hand on Jensen’s chest, over his heart. Says, “You don’t need to hide,” and Jensen inhales in surprise, the meaning hitting him like a punch to the gut. Of course that’s just like Cougar, seeing though all his bullshit, penetrating the flashiness and nonstop chatter. Cougar can read him like a fucking book.

“Habit,” Jensen manages.

Cougar doesn’t stop there, though; he lifts his hand, brushes the edge of Jensen’s lower lip with his thumb, and once Jensen gets over the initial shock, heat blooms inside of him, and he finally gets it. Oh. _Oh_.

He knows what’s coming but it still feels unexpected, Cougar’s lips on his, soft, intent, electrifying.

Cougar murmurs, “Stay quiet,” then drops to his knees, which makes all Jensen’s brain cells implode.

“The, uh—” his voice has gone as high as a fourteen-year-old’s, and cracks as much as one, too, “door, the door, it’s still _open_ —,” choking himself off with a gasp, because Cougar has efficiently and very, very quickly undone his jeans and pulled said jeans and boxers down just far enough to get at Jensen’s cock, which he then, without fanfare or warning, swallows down. Oh, _Jesus_.

Cougar pulls off long enough to say, “Better be quick, then,” voice rough with use, knocks his hat off in an uncharacteristically careless motion, then just goes back to sucking his cock. “What?” Jensen breathes; he’s already lost track of the conversation.

Cougar catches Jensen’s hands, places one of them on the back of his neck and the other in his hair. Jensen’s hesitant at first, gently threading his fingers through the strands, but Cougar squeezes his thighs, as if to say, _yes, go ahead_ , and he tightens his hold, pulls a little. Cougar makes a noise in the back of his throat in response, which sends white hot sparks down Jensen’s spine, and it becomes a feedback loop, making him clench a moan behind his teeth.

He tries to urge Cougar on, but Cougar completely ignores him: Cougar doesn’t seem to be too concerned about anyone walking in on them, because he’s going so slowly that Jensen thinks he’s going to _die_. It’s agonizing, the gradual build-up of pleasure, and each time he thinks he can’t possibly go any higher, Cougar drags him up an infinitesimal inch more, making his head swim with desire.

Cougar moves one of his hands to press against the sensitive skin behind Jensen’s balls, and that jolts him unexpectedly over the edge. He tries to pull Cougar off, but Cougar growls and doesn’t move—Jensen clenches his jaw and barely manages to keep from crying out, the world focusing to him coming down Cougar’s throat, _fuck_. He’s dizzy from it, almost staggers, but Cougar props him up with one hand while roughly stripping his own cock with the other, still on his knees. He bites Jensen’s hip when he comes, and Jensen’s cock is physically incapable of getting hard right now, but it really, _really_ wants to.

He swallows around his dry throat and says, “Best safe house, _ever_ ,” and Cougar catches his breath enough to give him a look that says, _Really?_ Jensen just pulls him up and kisses him, deep and slow, happier than he’s ever been.


End file.
